Stupid Evil Electronic Demons
by Gimli2003
Summary: We all know Jack and electronics don't get along...but not this badly
1. Chapter One: Good Morning!

// Title/Author: Stupid Evil Electronic Demons / by Gimli2003  
  
// Season/Spoilers:Any / None  
  
// Rating/Content :PG-13 / some language  
  
// Category:Humor  
  
// Summary:We all know Jack and electronics don't get along...but not THIS badly.  
  
// Author's Note:Once again, kudos to those who invented the show and I don't own it.  
  
R&R, and enjoy!  
  
Stupid Evil Electronic Demons  
  
By Gimli2003  
  
Chapter One: Good Morning!  
  
*BeepBeepBeep*  
  
Colonel Jack O'Neill, USAF, groaned in his half-awake state, mentally cursing the devious little  
  
instrument that dared to interrupt his slumber. 'Mustn't break object; must restrain violent tendencies, resist  
  
temptation to destroy.'  
  
*BeepBeepBeep*  
  
She reached for where the alarm clock *should* have been, felt around...felt around some more-  
  
*BeepBeepBeep*  
  
-'Damn it, did this thing move on me again?' He felt around some MORE-  
  
*BeepBeepBeep*  
  
-'Ah, there it is.' *Slap*  
  
Silence reigned in the bedroom. 'Thank GOD.' He started to slip back into sleep.  
  
*BeepBeepBeep*  
  
Jack opened one eye, eyebrow cocking upward. 'Ten minutes went by THAT fast?' He checked the clock.  
  
'What?! I haven't even been asleep one minute and already it's on again.'  
  
He was beginning to rapidly lose what little patience he had accumulated at this time of day, which was  
  
pretty much none at all. *Whack* The machine paused for a moment before-  
  
*BeepBeepBeep*  
  
*Whack whack whack whack WHACK* "SHUT UP, YOU LITTLE BUCKET OF BOLTS!"  
  
*BeepBeepBeep*  
  
-'Oh, screw it,' he thought, turning on his side to face the other side of the bed.  
  
*BeepBeepBeep*  
  
"GAH!" Whirling, he brought down his baseball bat on the damn electronic device, shattering it into a   
  
million pieces (well, six actually, but it looked like more).  
  
"Hah, man wins over machine again!" he crowed triumphantly. He dropped his bat down to the side of the  
  
bed where it was before burying his head into his pillow again.  
  
*BeepBeepBeep*  
  
'No, no no no, nonononononononoNO!' Cautiously, he snuch a peek at the corpse of his once whole alarm  
  
clock. The display was shattered and the body was hanging in several pieces, yet it *still* worked. 'How is this  
  
even possible?'  
  
He took the accursed little object and threw it as hard as could into the wall several feet away, stopping  
  
the noise immediately. "And good ridance!" Back to Ms. Pillow.  
  
*BeepBeepBeep*  
  
"OHFERCRYINGOUTLOUD! Where's my Beretta?" He leaped out of bed, stalking the rooms of his house, trying  
  
to remember where he had left his service weapon. He stalked through his house for six minutes, fuming at the  
  
insistent sound from the machine that wouldn't *die* before remembering he had a spare 9 mm under his bed.  
  
He walked calmy into his bedroom-  
  
*BeepBeepBeep*  
  
-bent over to get the weapon out from under the mattress-  
  
*BeepBeepBeep*  
  
-and then, *BLAM BLAM BLAM*, sent the circuited menace back to the hell it came from: Radio-Shack.  
  
"Ah, much better." He let himself enjoy the resulting silence for a few moments.  
  
'Hmm, well, I'm awake now, might as well get the day started. Huh, wonder what time it is?' He looked  
  
down at his wrist, only to be reminded by the empty space there that his usual watch was in the shop. 'Should  
  
have had Carter do it,' he though again for the seventh time in the past 24 hours. Well that only left...  
  
He glanced at the pile of rubble that *was* just telling him what time it was. "OHFERCRYINOUTLOUD!"  
  
TBC  
  
// Review people, or I'll go into review withdrawl. Not fun for a review junkie to go into withdrawl. 


	2. Chapter Two: Breakfast Mutiny

// See previous chapter for info on the story. BTW, tiny spoiler for Chimera here.  
  
// Chapter One was just a sample: Prepare yourself, Jack is going to have a REALLY bad day today!  
  
Chapter Two: Breakfast Mutiny  
  
Grumbling to himself about the *reliabilily* of foreign manufactured products (like his Sony alarm clock),  
  
Jack got dressed and replaced his gun under the bed, putting the partially emptied clip back in his nightstand  
  
where he had gotten it. Normally, he wouldn't have the two components this near to each other, but what with   
  
Daniels trouble with Osiris sneaking in at night, it seemed reasonable to be prepared.  
  
Before leaving his room, he couldn't resist going over to the appliance he had just terminated and doing a  
  
little jig on its grave. If he was going to be out an alarm clock, he was at least going to enjoy what its  
  
absence could do for him. Besides, it earned what it had gotten.  
  
Strolling into his kitchen, he thought of skipping the commissary food for once and eating breakfast at  
  
home. If he was late, he'd just say his alarm clock was broken. 'Totally truthful, Hammond can't fault me for  
  
that,' Jack thought with a grin as he retrieved a loaf of bread from the pantry.  
  
He placed four slices of toast in the toaster (yes, four; if he was gonna toast toast, he wanted to toast  
  
twice as much toast as normal toasters toasted, because he loved his toast), sliding the lever down to cook the  
  
yummy upcoming toast. He placed a pot in the coffee maker, setting the filter and pouring the grinds into the...  
  
compartment thingy, then closed it and pressed the single button on the pedestle. Being the oh-so-mechincally-  
  
inclined individual he was, he had opted for a coffee making machine with just ONE button: the 'make coffee'  
  
button, as he had brilliantly labeled it.  
  
'Now, what else? OJ!' He opened the fridge to get the carton of OJ, when-  
  
-"YOW," he yelled as a draft of sub-Artic air poured forth to assult his nether regions. Since when did  
  
his fridge run on liquid nitrogen? He slammed the door shut, but not before he got a view of the many frosted-  
  
over items resting on the shelves inside. 'No OJ, then. Thawing it out will remind me too much of Antarctica.  
  
Brrr.'  
  
'What day is today', he thought. 'Ohh, my alarm clock knows.' He interrupted his dash to his bedroom  
  
with a pause, then, "Doh!"  
  
*Ping*  
  
'Huh? What the...?' He turned to see where the pinging had happened. His four slices of toast stood  
  
upright, untoasted in his toaster. "No, bad boys, down," he shoved them back in their slots, resetting the lever.  
  
'Now, where was I? Oh yeah, what day is today?' He cast a glance at his front door. "AHA! The paper."  
  
He walk outside in nothing but a T-shirt and boxers (enjoy the view ladies; it won't last long), looking  
  
for his paper. He found it lying in a small puddle next to the front steps.  
  
"Grrr, I'm going to kill that little mutt next door. Nobody soils Jack O'Neills newspaper and lives."  
  
Upon picking the soaked item up, however, he found it didn't smell, it was just...wet. "Didn't rain, did it?" He  
  
looked at the sky. Nope, not cloud one. Probably kids with squirt guns, then. Wait, squirt guns in January?  
  
Okay, make that neighborhood punks with water balloons. *Sigh* 'Oh well, better get the mail while I'm at it.'  
  
It was only his reflexes as an Air Force officer that saved him from walking into the spray of his new  
  
sprinkler, which abruptly *shishishishishishishish*ed to life. "Aaah! What in the...?" The lawn-care device shut  
  
down just as fast as it had started up. Jack looked to his paper, then the sprinkler, then the paper-and then it  
  
clicked: paper comes early, sprinkler malfunctions, paper gets wet. 'And Daniel says the brain slows down with  
  
age,' he thought, grinning.  
  
Still, that didn't explain why it went off just now. Cautiously inching forward (being wet outside in  
  
boxers during a cold January morning isn't something he was looking forward to experiencing) he put himself just  
  
inside the sprinklers range, only to jump back as it let loose a spray of cold water at him.  
  
"OK, why is my sprinkler system playing Duck Hunt with me?"   
  
He tried a quick step to the left, then a few to the right, watching the sprinkler the whole time: it  
  
seemed to track his every movement. Great, and this thing was supposed to be an *improvement* over my previous  
  
way of watering the lawn.  
  
He could remember how he had been persuaded to buy the damned thing: a party at Carter's had led him to  
  
her front lawn, of all places, looking at a funky looking piece of metal with a weird dial on it. Carter had come  
  
to see why he was interested. "Carter, there's a clock thing on your sprinkler." "Yes sir, it sets the time of  
  
day that the sprinkler automatically goes off, and for how often and how long it does so. It's really convenient  
  
sir, when we're off world." "Yeah, convenient...and lazy." "...Sir, the last time we came back from a mission  
  
spending over two weeks off-world, this was all brown and dead, for the most part." "So, get a neighbor to spray  
  
it once every day or so, is that so hard?" Feeling his job lecturing Carter was done, he promptly went out the  
  
next day and bought a sprinkler just like hers.  
  
He wished very much now that he hadn't spent any time admiring Carters sprinkler that day, because now he  
  
couldn't get to his mailbox...unless-  
  
He walked over to his window and yanked one of the shutters off of it. It was several feet high and a  
  
couple feet wide: the perfect shield against his rogue lawn-watering instrument. Angling it to provide maximum  
  
coverage against the sprinkler he dashed out to his mailbox, hearing and feeling the cold spray impact his  
  
makeshift protective device. "Haha, man triumphs over machine again!" He got his mail, and turned to walk back  
  
inside, shielding himself yet again with the shutter-  
  
-when the sprinkler on the OTHER side of his lawn activated, instantly soaking him. "OHFERYCRYINOUTLOUD!"  
  
he yelled as he ran back into the warm, heated interior of his house. Stopping in the foyer, he dropped the  
  
soaked newspaper and semi-soaked mail onto a small table nestled against the wall. He had totally forgotten about  
  
the identical sprinkler he had gotten as part of a buy one-get one free deal at the hardware store.  
  
Marching into his bedroom, he cursed his rotten luck as he put on fresh, clean, and (most importantly) dry  
  
clothes for the upcoming day. Then, he moved back into his kitchen to eat his breakfast. That was when he  
  
smelled the smoke.  
  
"My toast!" he ran into the small corner of the kitchen where he kept the toaster, only to find the four  
  
slices of bread up yet again, totally untoasted. "What the...? Then, what's...?" He looked around, then saw the  
  
smoke coming from his coffee-machine. "My coffee!"  
  
Somehow, the filter had begun to smoke and burn. He quickly unplugged the coffee machine, then opened the  
  
machine and frantically slapped the filter with a quickly moistened towel. In doing so, he accidently knocked the  
  
thing a little too hard and sent it careening to the ground, shattering the item. "Aw, crap! Now how am I gonna  
  
stay awake through Daniels presentation today?" When he didn't get a response from his broken coffee-maker, he  
  
glared instead at the toaster, rebellious little twerp-thing. Shoving his bread into its slots again (why did  
  
that sound somewhat wrong to him?), he depressed the handle and left a two-pound book covering the lever, so it  
  
wouldn't pop back up before it was finally done.  
  
'Hmm, first my clock, then the fridge, next my sprinkler...T3 didn't happen overnight, did it? SkyNet  
  
isn't really real, right?' Turning on the small AM/FM radio he set beside the kitchen window, figuring if WW3 had  
  
been started by a pissed off computer, it would be all over the airwaves. Instead, all he got was the country  
  
music of a local station. Grumbling irritatedly, he flipped the seek switch several times...and each time it came  
  
to a station playing country music! Damnit, it had to be illegal to have that many stations playing country at  
  
this time in the morning.  
  
He was distracted from his reverie of cursing Brookes and Dunne by a bright flash from inside his toaster.  
  
Peeking carefully into the recesses of the device, he discoverd his toast had somehow been incinerated. "Oh, come  
  
on, give me one break, please?!"  
  
He could imagine the way others at Cheyenne Mountain would react to his telling them the events of this  
  
morning: Carter would of course have responded by naming all the things that could go wrong with appliances, how  
  
electricity worked, give him a detailed description of the Colorado Springs power grid, yadda yadda snore. Teal'c  
  
would raise an eyebrow and suggest that perhaps he take better care of his stuff, lest it turn on him. Daniel  
  
would just stare blankly at him before pleading to be a simple archaeologist who really knew nothing about  
  
technology, even compared to Jack. None of them would understand what this really was.  
  
Just then, a thought entered his mind: how likely would it be for all these electrical intruments to  
  
malfunction like this, all in the same house within less than a half-hour of each other, in very strange ways?  
  
One alarm clock malfunctioning, an accident. An alarm clock and his fridge, coincidence. Alarm clock, fridge,  
  
toaster, sprinkler system, coffee maker, AND radio, he was definitely the target of an electronic conspiracy.  
  
Acting on a hunch, he ambled over to the TV, switching it on via the remote...only to find that it remained stuck,  
  
no matter what channel changing tactic he tried, on the Food Network. Obviously the conspirators taunting him.  
  
"Yeah? Well, joke's on you. Jack O'Neill does NOT take this sort of thing lying down. Just wait,  
  
whoever you are. First I'm gonna have Sam sabotage YOUR electronics into harming you. Then Teal'c's gonna bend  
  
you in half, followed by a kickboxing session involving the four of us, starring you as the punching bag. After  
  
that, Doc Frasier's pump you full of the biggest, most painfull needles in existence. Then, just in case you're  
  
still ready for more after that, I'll duct-tape you to a chair and let Danny bore you to death talking about his  
  
rocks!"  
  
To which the saboteurs promptly responded by cutting all power to his house.  
  
"Oohhhooo, that's it. This means war."  
  
TBC  
  
// Like where this is going? Trust me, it's only going to get worse ;) hehehe, evilness  
  
// BTW, I have no idea if Sony makes alarm clocks and they're copyrighted, so don't sue me or anything 


	3. Chapter Three: Not the Truck

// See previous chapter for info on the story. No spoilers here that I know of.  
  
// The madness spreads to one of Jacks most beloved possessions  
  
Chapter Three: Not the Truck!  
  
Jack growled. He felt like hitting something. Experimentally, he punched the wall. The result: a hole in his wall...and sore  
  
knuckles. Figures.  
  
'Well, I better call the base, let them know about this.' It IS a security issue, after all. Any day when a military man can't  
  
get his mail without being attacked by his own sprinklers is a day when security in the USA is really bad. He was halfway towards the  
  
phone when he remembered that, as his home currently was without power, so was his phone. "Crap. Oh, my cell." 'Now, where did I leave  
  
the little stinker?'  
  
Jack spent the next ten minutes looking for the reclusive little electronic instrument of annoyance. He looked under his bed, in  
  
the closets, in the pantry, in his jacket, in the den, behind his VHS collection, under his pillow, next to the toaster, and in his  
  
medicine cabinet, yet he STILL couldn't find the blasted thing. 'So where the heck could it be?' He wondered and pondered this as he  
  
wandered his house, till he saw it: in it's charger on the table next to the front door. "Well, of COURSE I'm not gonna look there!"  
  
Jack snatched up the phone, pleased to see it still had about half its battery power left. Quickly, he hit the speed dial for  
  
the base. "Pick up already. C'mon, pick up, pick up, pick up-"  
  
Abruptly, he heard the click as the connection was made. Only instead of the officer for base security, he heard-  
  
"Konichiwa."  
  
'Oh crap.' "Uh, this isn't private Saunders at Cheyenne Mountain, is it?"  
  
Rapid fire Japanese began assaulting his ears. "Didn't think so." He hit the end button on the cell. Checking to make sure it  
  
was the RIGHT button this time, he hit the speed dial for the base again. This time he got a response from an annoyed sounding Russian  
  
voice. 'Well, the Russians are normally testy, nothing odd there.' He tried this tactic four more times, getting responses in Spanish,  
  
Arabic, German, and what sounded a lot like Swahili to him.  
  
Okay, time to try another tactic. He began to dial Carter at home. 'Wait, what am I doing? She only sleeps at home two or  
  
three times a month. She's probably crashed at her lab, again.' He hit the end button. 'Well, just gonna have to drive in and report  
  
this, I guess.'  
  
Jack collected his wallet, ID, jacket, keys, cell phone, and baseball cap before heading into the garage, where his beloved truck  
  
slept every night. Grinning, he hit the electric garage door opener, hearing the mechanism pull the large door open. He was halfway  
  
into the drivers seat when he heard-  
  
*chinkchinkvvrrrrBOOM*  
  
-and jerked around to glare at his garage door. Closed. He slammed the door release panel again. This time the door only got  
  
about six inches off the ground before slamming down again. He turned to glare at the defective instrument. "Why you audacious little  
  
stack of silicon stuffing."  
  
For a couple of minutes, Jack struggled with the garage door opener, try to unfasten the devices grip on the door so he could  
  
open it manually. Unfortunately, Jack had tightened the bolts holding the two things together about as tight Kinsey was with the NID.  
  
In the end, nothing good came of it. Again, just like Kinsey with the NID.  
  
'All right, time to use Colonel Jack O'Neill's DIY guide to fixing broken electronics. Step one: pound item into submission  
  
with fist.' He did. End result: sore fist. "Daniel would say there's a lesson to be learned in this about using violence to solve  
  
problems." Jack, of course, would tell Danny to shut up. 'Okay, step two: swear at it. Man I love step two, almost as much as I love  
  
step one.' Taking a deep breath, he let out a long string of invectives and insults at the mechanism, learned from his career with the  
  
Air Force, his years in public high school, and, mostly, his Irish mother and father. He thoroughly and vigorously cursed its lineage,  
  
hygiene, and sexual habits before running out of breath after a minute and a half. After he got his wind back, he glanced back at the  
  
device, just in time to see it blink its one little green light at him. 'I knew it! It's mocking me!' "Okay, fine. It's step three  
  
for your ass." 'Step three: apply tools.' Jack saunterred over to his toolbox and extracted the item he needed. 'The hammer should do  
  
nicely here.' He applied the tool to the garage door opener with his usual grace (i.e. none), happy to see it break apart, sparking  
  
nicely over everything, just like he thought it would.  
  
What he DIDN'T think would happen was the rapid acension of his garage door, catching the back of the hammer and half dragging /  
  
half throwing him across his garage into his stack of cardboard boxes holding recyclables. "Owwww." 'Commence glaring at delinquent  
  
garage door.'  
  
After a few seconds, Jack felt the door had been sufficiently glared at for its misconduct, so he collected himself and got into  
  
his truck. Keys, ignition, turn, and...  
  
...nothing.  
  
'They didn't. They couldn't possibly be THAT stupid.' He tried turning the key again, only to hear the engine struggle to life,  
  
falling silent a moment later. "No, no no no no no no no, they did NOT mess with my truck."  
  
Throwing open the door, Jack stalked forward to the front of his truck and raised the hood. Nothing...seemed out of place. But  
  
then, he worked in a profession where he met aliens on a daily basis, so seeing past appearances was a necessary talent for someone in  
  
his position. Amazing, then, that he had survived 7 years of Gate travel without said talent.  
  
Securing the hood with the little metal bar thingie, he began an examination of his car battery. 'I didn't know it was that  
  
color. I thought I had a red battery.'  
  
THe sudden blaring of his horn jared him from his reverie about the colors of batteries and how they may change color over time.  
  
"Mother of..." After a moment, the car alarm also kicked in, as well as the lights and windshield wipers. 'It a freaking fourth of July  
  
for my car!'  
  
Jack ran to the trucks door and tried to open it, only to find that the lock had engaged. "Oh for the love of Pete!" 'Now how  
  
was he supposed to...wait, the window!' The passengers side window was partially rolled down. Running to the other side, trying not to  
  
let the psycho automobile scare him. A toaster was one thing, a fridge another, but such a large machine capable of reaching very high  
  
speeds being sabotaged to make his life a living hell could do so in many gruesome ways. Funny that he didn't think about how it could  
  
do so with the windows as he tried to crawl through the small opening the partially rolled down window offered. When that proved to be  
  
too small, he grabbed hold of the window and pulled down, forcing the pane down a few inches...right before it inexplicably decided to  
  
bolt upwards and smash his fingers between it and the metal.  
  
Five minutes later, ears ringing from the continued blaring of the horn and car alarm and fingers black and blue from the power  
  
windows from Hell, Jack finally gave in. Going back to the front of the truck, he disconnected the battery. All activity from the nutso  
  
vehicle immediately ceased.  
  
Jack gritted his teeth with enough force to crumple steel plates. "I will kill people now. Many, many people will die by my  
  
hand on this day."  
  
"Excuse me, sir?"  
  
Jack stepped to the side so he could see around his truck, glowering at the new arrival standing in front of his garage: a cop.  
  
'Wonderful, the first sacrifice has arrived.' It had been a while since he'd talked to any sort of law enforcement officer in a  
  
situation where he wasn't in trouble. Therefore, all that came to mind to say to the man in blue in front of him was, "Hey."  
  
The officer nodded and took a step forward into Jacks garage. "Car trouble?"  
  
'Little boy genius, aren't you kid?' "What gave you that idea?"  
  
"The car alarm going off."  
  
'Doh' "...Yes, obvious in retrospect." Must have been why I didn't hear him drive up, and why he drove up in the first place.  
  
The officer gestured to Jacks truck. "What seems to be the matter with it?"  
  
'Well, it's suffering from the same thing as every other device I own that runs on electricity. Namely that they've all been  
  
sabotaged to malfunction in the most annoying, inconveniencing way possible, ALL AT ONCE!' "Nothing, just takes a while to get started  
  
some mornings."  
  
The young police officer nodded his head in understanding. "Well, best of luck then."  
  
"Hopefully I won't need it." Jack grinned at the cop as the blue uniformed man made his way back to the cruiser he had parked in  
  
Jack's driveway. As the sound of the retreating car, Jack went back to his usual regimen for fixing machines: glaring, swearing, and  
  
pounding with fists. That lasted only another ten minutes, after which he became bored. 'Great, now what am I gonna do?'  
  
*Ding dong*  
  
'Huh? Now my DOORBELL is joining in the fun? Great, if this isn't over soon, I'm gonna move to Russia! They're too poor to  
  
have electronics everywhere over there.' Then he heard the chime come again, twice in rapid succession, followed by a few knocks on his  
  
front door. There was actually someone there. 'It better not be that cop again. I'd rather not be jailed for assaulting a law  
  
enforcement officer.'  
  
Wondering just who the heck would be at his house this early on a Thursday, O'Neill made his way to his front door. "What?" he  
  
practically yelled as he swung open the heavy mahogohny wood door. After a moment, he recognized the figure. "Thank God! A friendly  
  
face."  
  
On Jacks front doorstep, Daniel Jackson regarded his friend with a wary expression, letting out a sigh of resignation in the  
  
process. "Whatever it is, it's gonna be bad. I can tell."  
  
TBC  
  
// Next time, Enter the Space Monkey  
  
// Review. Oh, the magic word: NOW!...Please? Don't make my grovel, my knees don't like it. 


End file.
